'A hundred dollars,' I said automatically, continuing to make notes as I spoke.
'Well,' he said, 'it isn't much, but it's better than a stick up the nose. I think I picked up the guy. About January 10th. It could have been then. On Central Park West and maybe 70th or 71st. Around there.'
'What time?'
'Oh, maybe nine o'clock at night. Like that. I was working nights then. I'm on days now.'
'Do you remember what the weather was like?'
'That night? A bitch. Lousy driving. Sleety. I was ready to pack it in when this guy practically threw himself under my wheels, waving his arms.'
'Do you remember what he looked like?'
'The only reason I remember, he gave me such a hard time. I wasn't driving fast enough. I was taking the long way. The back of the cab was littered and smelled. And so forth and so on. A real ball-breaker, if you know what I mean.'
I put my pen aside and took a deep breath. It was beginning to sound encouraging,
'Can you describe him physically?'
'Hat, scarf, and overcoat,' the cabdriver said. 'An old geezer. Tall and skinny. Stooped over. Ordinarily I don't take a lot of notice of who rides my cab, but this guy was such a fucking asshole I remember him.'
He was sounding better and better.
'And where did you take him?' I asked, closing my eyes and hoping.
'The 79th Street boat basin,' the cabdriver said. 'And he gives me a quarter tip. In weather like that! Can you beat it?'
I opened my eyes and let my breath out in a long sigh.
'Would you tell me your name, please?' I said.
'Bernie Baum.'
'And where are you calling from now, Mr Baum?'
'Gas station on Eleventh Avenue.'
'We're on East 38th Street. If you'd be willing to come over and sign a short statement attesting to what you've just told me, you can pick up your hundred dollars.'
'You mean that was the guy?' he said.
'That was the guy,' I said.
'Well, yeah, sure,' he said, 'I'll sign a statement. It's the truth, ain't it? But listen, I wouldn't have to go to court or nothing like that, will I?'
'Oh no, no,' I said hurriedly. 'Nothing like that, it's just for our files.'
Maybe someday he would have to repeat his statement in court, but I wasn't about to tell him that.
'Well, I want to grab some lunch first,' he said, 'but I'll be over right after.'
'Fine,' I said heartily. 'Try to make it before one o'clock.'
I gave him our address and told him to ask for Joshua Bigg. I hung up, grinning. Percy Stilton had been right; the bad guys didn't have all the luck.
I typed out a brief statement to be signed by Bernie Baum that said only that he had picked up a man he later identified from a photograph as Professor Yale Stonehouse at approximately 9.00 p.m. on the evening of January 10th in the vicinity of Central Park West and 70th Street and had delivered him to the 79th Street boat basin.
I kept it as short and factual as possible.
Mrs Kletz arrived while I was finishing up. She said her tooth was feeling better and she felt well enough to put in her four hours.
I told her about Bernie Baum and she was as pleased as I was.
'A lot has happened since you read the Kipper and Stonehouse files,' I said. 'Sit down for a moment and I'll bring you up to date.'
She listened intently, sucking her breath in sharply when I told her about Glynis and Knurr.
'And that's where the cabdriver took Professor Stonehouse the night he disappeared,' I finished triumphantly.
But she was thinking of something else. Those young eyes seemed to have taken on a thousand-yard stare.
'Do you suppose, Mr Bigg,' she said in her light, lilting voice, 'do you suppose that either of the two women, Tippi Kipper or Glynis Stonehouse, knows of the other?'
I blinked at her. The question had never occurred to me, 326
and I was angry with myself because it should have.
'I don't know, Mrs Kletz,' I confessed. 'I'd say no, neither is aware of the other's existence. If there's anything Knurr doesn't need right now it's a jealous and vindictive woman.'
She nodded thoughtfully. 'I expect you're right, Mr Bigg.' She went back to her desk and began answering some of the routine requests. As for me, I ordered a pastrami on rye, kosher dill pickle, and tea from a Madison Avenue deli. Bernie Baum arrived and turned out to be a squat, middle-aged man with two days' growth of grizzled beard and a wet cigar. He was wearing a soiled plaid mackinaw and a black leather cap.
I handed him the statement I had prepared, and he took a pair of spectacles from his inside shirt pocket. One of the bows was missing and he had to hold the ramshackle glasses to his eyes to read.
Then he looked up at me.
'What'd this guy do?' he asked in his raspy, gargling voice. 'Rob a bank?'
'Something like that,' I said.
'It figures,' he said, nodding. 'Since I talked to you on the phone, I been trying to remember the guy better. I figure now he was nervous — you know? Something was bugging him and that's why he was bugging me.'
'Could be,' I said.
'Well,' said Bernie Baum judiciously, 'if he had a yacht stashed in that boat basin, he's probably in Hong Kong by now.'
'That could be, too,' I said. 'Now if you'll just sign the statement, Mr Baum, I'll get you your money.'
He signed Bernard J. Baum, with his address, and I made out a petty cash voucher for $100. We shook hands and I sent him up to the business office with Mrs Kletz. She was back in five minutes and told me Bernie Baum had received his cash reward and departed happily. She also 327
told me that Hamish Hooter had okayed the request with no demur. In victory, magnanimous…
Percy Stilton showed up right on time, dressed, I was happy to see, very conservatively in navy blue suit, white shirt, black tie. No jewellery. No flash. He had judged his audience to a tee. I showed him the statement the cabdriver had signed.
Percy sat there a moment, knees crossed, pulling gently at his lower lip.
'Uh-huh,' he said finally. 'We're filling in the gaps — slowly. Know what I think? Professor Stonehouse is down in the mud at the bottom of the Hudson River at 79th Street with an anchor tied to his tootsies. That's what I think. I checked out the boat basin about an hour ago.
There's a houseboat registered to a Mister Godfrey Knurr.
Not reverend, but mister. It's a fifty-foot fibreglass Gibson, and the guy I talked to told me it's a floating palace. All the comforts of home and then some.'
I sighed.
'It makes sense,' I said. 'It doesn't make sense to think a man like Knurr would be content to live in the back room of a dingy store down on Carmine Street.'
Percy was silent, and I glanced nervously at my watch.
We only had a few more minutes.
'Something bothering you?' I asked.
'Do you really think Knurr burned Kipper and Stonehouse?' he asked tonelessly.
'Kipper certainly,' I said. 'Probably Stonehouse.'
'That's how I see it,' he said, nodding sombrely.
'What's bothering me is this: we know of two. How many more are there we don't know about?'
I gathered up my notes and files and we took the elevator up to the library. Neither of us spoke during the ascent.
There was a note Scotch-taped to the library door:
'Closed from 2.00 to 3.00 p.m.' An effective notice to me 328
that I would be allotted one hour, no more. Stilton and I went in and took adjoining leather-padded captain's chairs at the centre of one of the table's long sides.
'Perce, can you get through this without smoking?' I asked him.
'Sure.'
'Try,' I said.
I arranged my files and papers in front of me. I went over my presentation notes. Then we sat in silence.
When Ignatz Teitelbaum and Leopold Tabatchnick entered together, at precisely 2.00 p.m., Stilton and I rose to our feet. I thought wildly that there should have been a fanfare of trumpets.